Coffee's For Closers Only
by IveHadWorse
Summary: The employees at the Lima Bean are not at all impressed with the new hire. Well, save for the curiosity of a few and the wandering eyes of a couple others. And the Glengarry Glen Ross quotes have virtually nothing to do with this. DISCONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:**Coffee Is For Closers Only  
><strong>Author: Ivehadworse<strong>  
><strong>Rating: <strong>R for future chapters, and Santana's foul mouth.**  
><strong>**Spoilers:** Anything up to "Blame It On The Alcohol" although I doubt I make any specific references. Basically if you weren't aware before that Finn and Quinn dated, you're probably not fit for real life.  
><strong>Summary:<strong>The employees at the Lima Bean are not at all impressed with the new hire. Well, save for the curiosity of a few and the wandering eyes of a couple others. And the Glengarry Glen Ross quotes have virtually nothing to do with this. It's a coffee shop, not a real estate office, FYI.

As she made her way up the sidewalk, Quinn Fabray could already hear the banging and shouting coming from inside the busy establishment. The Lima Bean was a fairly popular spot on any given day, but a warm Saturday in April meant Spring had finally arrived and she could reasonably expect this crowd for the next three or four months.

Lucky me, she thought ruefully. She pushed through the glass doors of the bustling coffee shop, and caught the eye of the girl standing behind the counter with an incredibly fake smile plastered on her lips, and an equally as sickeningly sweet lilt in her voice. Quinn gave her a sympathetic nod in greeting before stepping into the backroom to hang her stuff.

She could hear the snarky voice of her boss, John, as she approached the saloon-style doors which did a surprisingly useless job at guarding the back room. One of the doors hung on its last hinge, and Quinn was almost certain one of these days it was just going to fall off.

"What are you asking me, Finn? Spit it out," bellowed her boss, a shorter man with horn-rimmed glasses, which Quinn hilariously attributed to Lisa Loeb (John would tell her to shut her "dirty whore-mouth" if he heard that), who was always ready with a well-timed barb.

"Did you decide on... well, you know how I gave you the resume of my friend, I was just won-wondering if you had made any deci... progress with her application?" As Quinn checked the schedule (if only to look like she had something to do back there), she used the stapled papers to hide her broadening grin and barely concealed laughter. Finn was always a bumbling idiot; some things never changed.

"Oh, you mean Rachel?" Quinn's ears perked, and she would have dropped the schedule if she hadn't had years of practice in recovering from such unfortunate missteps.

"Yeah, I interviewed her a couple of days ago. I gave her the job." Finn whooped with excitement, but then obviously remembered himself and thanked John for the consideration. That was just as awkward.

"Rachel Berry?" exclaimed a voice behind Quinn, and the three others turned to look at the newcomer. "Are you fucking kidding me? I see her three times a week already at school, why the fuck does she have to work here too?"

"Santana, why are you such a hateful bitch?" Finn returned angrily. The Latina didn't even flinch.

"I don't know, Finnocence. Why are you such an awkward Puberty PSA?" He stepped forward towards Santana, to do what Quinn was sure he hadn't decided, but then obviously thought better of it. It ended up looking like an abortive run, which resulted in him tripping over air and falling lamely back into place. Santana and Quinn couldn't stop the laugh that issued forth. Quinn at least had the decency to try and hide it.

"God, you know this girl too?" John interjected.

"She's in our Glee club," Quinn finally responded.

"Christ... Is she gay too? Because something tells me I'm going to have some weird hetero-affirmative action problem soon."

"She's not gay," Finn and Quinn both hastily replied. They exchanged a glare, broken first by Finn who seemed to have lost any associable masculinity in favour of the women he worked with.

"Anyway, Santana you need to get back on the flo—"

"I swear to fucking Christ on crutches that if she gives me even one damn reason to punch her in that gaping maw she calls her mouth, I'm going to take the opportunity with relish."

"S..." Quinn threatened mildly, completing it with an eye roll.

"Seriously, I'll punch her. I won't even be able to stop myself," Santana continued. "It'll be like, 'oops, sorry Treasure Trail, your fucking _beak_got in the way of my Johnny Cage uppercut.' And she'll be all—"

"Fuck, I heard Berry's going to be working here?" came a fifth voice.

"Kurt, lay off!" Kurt stared back at Finn with a look of utter confusion and innocence, but the smirk he sent Quinn's way told her he knew exactly what he had said.

"Does anyone even work here anymore? Get on the floor. Jesus!" John finally stood and began to physically usher them out of the back room. "You too, Quinn. You were on five minutes ago, and now you're late."

"I was totally on time, old man!" she threw over her shoulder, before she tightened her apron around her waist and walked behind the counter.

"This seriously blows," Santana groaned. "I thought we were finally rid of her now that it's summer." Santana leaned against the counter facing out to the coffee shop's main room, as Quinn tidied behind her. Kurt was on the bar and looked like he was going to lose it.

"Double, short, breve Americano misto to go," he shouted out into the coffee shop. "For the third time," he muttered under his breath. He turned around to the two girls to undoubtedly rant about the self-indulgent miscreants people liked to romantically call customers when the drink was finally snatched off his bar counter.

"Oh, Luke!" Kurt let out an uneasy, chuckle. The customer, tall and handsome returned his chuckle with a warm smile. "I didn't realize it was your order. Which I suppose I should have, seeing as it's so... specific," he finished lamely, as Luke sent him a wave over his shoulder as he pushed through the front door on his way out. "I love you, call me," Kurt whispered.

Santana and Quinn, having witnessed this scene many times before only snickered to themselves.

"Ooh, Luke, your breve makes me cream! Ooh, Luke, we should totally date and be boy-lovers together!" Santana couldn't help teasing Kurt though, even if she had been recycling material at this point due to the frequency of the act. "Ugh, it's disgusting."

"Excuse me, young lady could I have a tall, dark in a to-go cup?" said a quiet and polite elderly lady now standing at the front counter. Santana immediately plastered on what Quinn would label her 'customer-service outfit' complete with voice-altering and fake smile, the very same she had witnessed as she had come into work that day.

"You sure can, love. Need room for milk or cream?" The woman only nodded, and when Santana turned her back to the lady to pour the coffee her expression fell. Under her breath she whispered to Quinn, "God, don't customers realize sometimes you just want five minutes to yourself?"

Quinn only chuckled, but moved away to make herself useful. There were a ton of dishes, and Quinn suspected she'd be doing the bulk of them. Even being an assistant manager didn't absolve her of the duty, but that was more likely due to her mellowing out since leaving the Cheerios. She didn't feel as up to delegating as she once did.

Finn came out of the men's washroom carrying an empty paper-towel roll, and the full bathroom garbage bag. "Hey, Finn," Quinn called. "You want to take care of these dishes too while you're at it? Not like they're going to clean themselves." Perhaps one or two delegations didn't hurt if it meant getting back at ex-boyfriends in small, mostly harmless ways.

The Saturday crowd had kept the store front fairly busy, but not busy enough that Quinn hadn't immediately known when Rachel Berry had arrived. She wouldn't go so far as to say she felt her presence, but for once it hadn't been her voice that had immediately sounded the alarm of her arrival. Quinn annoyingly had a sixth sense where the brunette was concerned, and she hated to give it credence but it hadn't seemed to fail her these days.

The girl in question had done a near-perfect diva-entrance, save for having to side step a three year old who was making 'rawr' sounds for his dinosaur who, defying the laws of gravity, was jumping from chair to table across the store assisted by the little boy. Rachel couldn't suppress the little smile at the sight, but soon was shifting her gaze behind the counter to spot an employee. Quinn almost ducked out of sight, but realized she was the only one on the floor.

_Of course_, she internally rolled her eyes.

"Quinn!" Rachel cheerfully greeted. Sobering a bit, she still had a grin on her face when she continued, "I didn't know you worked here."

"Oh, Finn didn't mention that, huh?" Quinn replied lamely. She mentally berated herself for her lack of aloofness.

"Well, I'm not surprised he didn't mention it," Rachel returned coyly. "You look... you really wear that apron."

"Wha—"

"Rachel!" Finn hollered, coming out of the back room, "Awesome, you're here! Come into the back, and meet John." Rachel bounced into step beside him without hesitation.

"Later, Quinn," she replied blithely. Quinn was complete taken aback. Had Rachel Berry just been flirting with her?

"Fuck me." Quinn choked down a lump in her throat at the prospect.

"Why are you working here again?" Kurt narrowed his eyes at the singer, giving her a suspicious once-over.

"Like I said, it's important even for a talent like me to have work experience elsewhere. If for no other reason than to have the foundation to play such a character effortlessly, I think working in customer service offers me a plethora of opportunities to really hone my many skills. It isn't expected that I'll need this experience for any practical sense later on, after we've graduated and I without preamble am accepted at Julliard undoubtedly with a full ride." Rachel's eyes had glazed over a bit towards the end, causing Quinn and Kurt to share an eye roll.

"Also, my Dads think it's time that I got a job. My last foray into online retail yielded many exceptional finds for me, but a painfully unfortunate bill for them. I think I owe them $780."

"Jesus, what did you buy?" Kurt gaped at her. Quinn only arched an eyebrow.

"A theatrical film reel of 'The Way We Were' and 'The Prince of Tides'. Despite not _currently_owning a 35mm projector, I think it was a sound investment."

"Uh-huh..." Kurt trailed off, not sure what else to say. The girl was completely bat-shit loco, but at least it wasn't drugs. Then again, she already talked faster than humanly possible, why not get her to fix his clock-radio and clean his bathroom while she was at it.

"Anyway, I'm here to work, Kurt. If you wouldn't mind waiting to speak with me after I've finished my shift. I really abhor the idea of wasting time while I'm getting paid." With that she turned towards the back to grab the dustpan and broom. Quinn and Kurt only stared after her, dumbfounded.

"Good," Santana said, approaching from behind them. "She won't last two days here then. Hummel, come to the back, John is showing us the 'Sassy Gay Friend' skits on YouTube. You have to see the Desdemona one. Fucking priceless!" Kurt practically ran to the back. Santana turned to Quinn before following behind him, "You can stay here, Queerleader. I'm sure the midget-troll would love your _brand_of company."

Quinn stuck up her middle finger as the Latina retreated into the back room, making grotesque sexual sounds as she went. Quinn glanced back at Rachel as she painstakingly moved the cream-stand to sweep behind it. She was so earnest, Quinn didn't really have the heart to tell her they had a cleaning staff come in every night that did that. When Finn ambled up beside her, she tore away her gaze not wanting the inevitable line of question getting caught staring would elicit. He may be dumb as rocks, but Finn wasn't completely unobservant.

"She's going to love it here, don't you think Quinn?" Quinn scoffed.

"Oh yeah, Rachel and The Lima Bean were completely meant to be. One true pairing, and all that junk."

"Hey, 'Rubyfruit Jungle'," John shouted to her from the back room. "Come to the back, I want to go over next week's schedule with you."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming 'Naked Lunch'. Keep your panties on," she countered as she made her way into the back room. Finn wanted to ask her what 'Rubyfruit Jungle' meant but he was sure it wouldn't be any clearer with an explanation. Nothing about Quinn and John's interactions ever were. He was glad Rachel worked there now; at least she made sense.

****  
>END PART 1<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

PART 2

"I just think it might be cool if I trained her on how to use the bar," Finn interjected for the seventh time. Quinn rolled her eyes; they had been having this _conversation_ for nearly twenty minutes, and while Quinn was as much a fan of friendly procrastination as the next guy, her quick glances at the clock told her this discussion would need to be wrapped up right quick. The subject in question was due to start her bar-training shift in ten minutes.

Quinn heaved a sigh. It would be easier to let him train her, but Quinn felt her stomach churn at the idea of watching him 'Ghost' through the training, stepping up behind her and moulding himself to her back as he guided her hands through the steps. Rachel would probably melt into a puddle on the floor at the movie reference, and Finn would be insufferable for the rest of the week at his assumed lady-killing. She brought her fingers to her temple; she could already feel the storming surge of a migraine developing behind her eyes.

The alternative, of course, would be her training Rachel. As the assistant manager she was the most senior of the two, and with John having the next two days off she sort of had a managerial obligation to teach Rachel the right form, and junk. Her mind quickly flashed to an image of Rachel trapped in the corner of the terribly constructed bar counter by Quinn's own body, and Rachel's deep brown eyes unreadable as they burn through Quinn from behind her lashes. Her looming migraine seemed to twitch at the prospect, and she shook her head quickly to rid herself of the uninvited images. She kneaded her taught neck muscles.

"Plus, we're friends; she doesn't even like you," Finn finished triumphantly. He gave her a smirk, daring her to defy him.

Quinn's eyes immediately snapped to him, and Finn's smirk grew wider as he realized he'd hit a nerve. Quinn's eyes narrowed and his smirk faltered a bit.

"I need you to help Kurt with the till while I'm training Rachel on the bar." With that Quinn turned back to the office desk, and began organizing the many papers that adorned the surface, effectively dismissing Finn from her presence. Finn didn't put up any further argument, but by the way he lumbered out of the office, Quinn knew she had won that match.

A couple minutes later, Quinn heard a soft rapping on the door frame, and she turned to greet the visitor. Rachel stood there in a form-fitting _Lima Bean_ uniform tee, smiling shyly at the blonde. "Kurt said you were going to be training me on how to use the espresso machine today."

"That's, uh, that's right," Quinn murmured.

"Well, I look forward to working with you again, Quinn. I just need to drop off my purse and I'm all yours."

Quinn's heart lurched at Rachel's words, and the blonde mentally slapped herself out of her mania. As a further trial to her patience, her migraine was back, though she wasn't sure it had ever really gone away.

"You want to put about thirty-pounds of pressure onto the tamp," Quinn explained, watching the smaller girl struggle with the weighted instrument and her own leverage, made difficult by her small stature. Quinn grimaced a bit as the portafilter scrapped against the metal of the counter. Her fingers itched to wrap around Rachel's wrist and guide her into the proper position for tamping, but she mentally berated herself for even briefly considering a 'Ghost' moment.

"I'm too... tiny..." she huffed, finally putting the tamp back on the counter.

"Rach, it has nothing to do with how tall you are," Quinn admonished gently. She pushed Rachel gently towards the bar corner, "Now try putting the portafilter basket on the edge of the counter. Might even give you better control."

But Rachel wasn't moving to make the adjustment, instead she was staring at Quinn with a very perplexed look on her face. Quinn returned it, a little taken aback at the scrutiny.

"You called me 'Rach'."

"What?" Quinn scoffed.

"You did," Rachel returned, a whisper of a smile forming on her lips.

"I – No, it was probably me just speaking quickly to try and avoid an hour long rant about how Barista work was prejudiced against short people because it required upper-body mobility that couldn't be achieved with little legs and arms."

Rachel raised a single eyebrow as though to say, _now who's ranting?_ Quinn rolled her eyes, and in doing so caught the amused look of Kurt as he bent over to get a pastry from the display fridge. Her eyes narrowed, but he didn't seem bothered. It wasn't lost on Quinn that Finn seemed to be pushing the till's buttons with a lot more force than was needed, though he didn't dare look in their direction.

"I think you like me, Fabray." Quinn's head snapped back to Rachel instantly, and she eyed the girl with incredulity. This made the brunette's smile turn into a full-blown grin, and the effect was disarming. "You might even consider us... friends." She finished on a slightly mocking squeal, and this made Quinn scowl. Rachel's eyes danced playfully, and Quinn rolled her eyes again.

"Just put the portafilter on the edge of the counter, man-hands."

"Quinn," Rachel gasped, though she could hear the amusement in her voice, "is that any way to treat a friend?" She placed the espresso-filled basket on the edge of the counter, the handle gripped tightly in her hand, and attempted once again to tamp the brown grains down. She spun the tamp gracefully, and pulled it out to reveal a perfectly viable espresso puck. She turned back to Quinn with a look of complete wonder at her achievement. Quinn couldn't help her own grin at the girl's exuberance.

"This is going to be the gayest shift that ever gayed," came a voice from back room. Santana Lopez stood staring at the four behind the counter, more specifically the two girls practically huddled in the corner of the bar area with stupid grins on their faces. Quinn's smile lessened, but didn't disappear as she met the annoyed gaze of her friend. Santana only shook her head in bemusement.

"Maybe Finn should go on his break," Kurt said as he tried to disengage the quarter-back from repeatedly stabbing his index finger into the till buttons.

"Yeah, Finn, go on your break," Quinn sighed, and the boy stalked into the back room without another word narrowly missing running into Santana. He knew better than that, at least. Quinn turned back to Rachel, and watched her place the portafilter into its holding on the espresso machine. Quinn pointed to the button to press, and Rachel pressed it. Rachel quietly counted the seconds until the shots were done, and did a little dance in her spot when the time was within the acceptable parameters.

Kurt and Santana made a mock-retching sound from behind them. Quinn heaved an irritated sigh, and moved to get more cups from the back room. As she passed by the two falsely-sick employees, she heard Santana mutter under her breath, "Oh, Rachel. Your breve makes me cream, your espresso is so silky and hot." She knows Quinn heard her, and laughs when she playfully shoves the Latina into Kurt. Kurt pushes her back, and straightens his barely wrinkled shirt with a disapproving smirk.

"You need new material, Lopez," he scoffs.

"Whatevs, lady-face."

"Are you trying to make me jealous or something? Because I'm not into you that way anymore."

Quinn was snapped out of her inventory-induced reverie at the unannounced visitor. It was nearing the end of her shift, and all she had wanted to do was get her orders in before the various whole-sale bakeries closed up shop for the evening. But if it wasn't Santana asking for time off in order to go visit Brittany at the dance camp she was volunteering at ("Q, I needs my sex on like, yesterday!"), or Kurt and Rachel bickering about which satellite radio station to listen to (she sided with Rachel, but only because Kurt's channel choice played RuPaul's "Supermodel: You Better Work" too frequently, and Quinn reasoned that Broadway was marginally less grating than that. Rachel's affectionate smile was not the solidifying factor.) it was John calling in to find out how everything was going over there, which ultimately led into more than one anecdote about cats or the B-52s.

Quinn clenched her jaw and addressed Finn with the most annoyed scowl she could muster. "What are you talking about?"

"All this... stuff with Rachel. I'm not into you that way anymore, and I really don't want Rachel to think that you're competition."

"I'm sorry, one more time?"

"Rachel's a little intimidated by you, and if she thought you were trying to stake your claim, or whatever, she would probably back down." Finn's expression shifted into one of sympathy, "I'm sorry we didn't work out Quinn, but I like Rachel now, and I want to see how it will go."

Quinn was stunned. She thought she had made things pretty clear in the past.

"I thought I was pretty clear before, Finn." His confused stare let her know that she would need to reiterate for him. It was her turn to give him a sympathetic look. She looked under his arm that was braced against the door frame to make sure no one else was listening, though it wasn't as if this was entirely new information to the employees of _Lima Bean_ but Quinn was still pretty discreet and painfully private about this particular aspect of her life.

"I'm gay, Finn... that's why we didn't work out."

"I know," he returned, shuffling his foot nervously against a stain on the linoleum. "I just thought... maybe you had feelings for me again... or something."

"I will always have feelings for you," she consoled, "Just not in that way. You're my friend."

"Cool," he smiled. His eyes shifted and seemed to contemplate the blonde before him. "So what was with all that Rachel stuff today, then?"

Quinn considered his question for a long time, but she didn't really know what to say. She thought about the way Rachel had teased her, the friendly way she greeted her when she arrived for her shift, and the way her eyes had caught Quinn staring more than once while Quinn was supposed to be training her. The conflicted feelings she felt in her stomach and the migraine that seemed always on the horizon whenever anyone mentioned the brunette's name only served to give Quinn further pause. "I'm not sure," she finally whispered.

"I heard her tease you about being her friend. Maybe you _should_ try it sometime," Finn implored. "She can be a really great girl, once you get to know her."

Quinn nodded slowly, but didn't say anything further. The phone rang, and she let out a lamentable sigh, casting an apologetic glance in Finn's direction. He excused himself, closing the door on his way out.

"Lima Bean, Quinn Fabray speaking, how may I help you?"


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I realized after the fact that I wasn't happy with Quinn and Finn's conversation at the end of the last chapter. I felt like Quinn likely wouldn't spell out her sexuality, even for a friend. But since it was already out there, I decided to delve a bit into the "coming-out" experience as shameless justification for my slip. I don't exactly feel this answers everything, but I'm okay with that. It's sort of how Ryan Murphy tends to play fast-and-loose with the canon of the show, anyway. _

_Just how I'm going to ignore the fact that Quinn was ever known as Lucy Quinn Fabray, or Lucy Caboosey for that matter (which, can I just say, may be the most laughable attempt at bullying ever. Lucy Caboosey? That was worst they could come up with?), or that she ever transferred schools. For the intents of this story, she has known Rachel and the others since the first day of middle-school, unless otherwise stated._

Part 3

It wasn't the world's most cataclysmic revelation, but it had hit the blonde pretty hard when the evidence piled up in an undeniable fashion leading to the only viable conclusion: she was a big homo. Well, that was how Santana had phrased it when she finally sat the Head Cheerleader down one night during cheer-camp last summer. Santana reasoned that the surreptitious glances at several squad-members during their locker-room routines not to mention a relatively new attitude towards a certain Glee club midget had gone on long enough, and Quinn needed a firm, rational talking-to.

"_You're a big homo," the Latina deadpanned._

"_I beg your pardon!" Quinn gasped, her eyes growing wide at the accusation._

"_Seriously," Brittney chimed in. The Head Cheerleader snapped her attention from the Latina to the other blonde in disbelief. Well, she had never in her li—_

"_It's not a big deal," Santana shrugged._

"_I beg your pardon!"_

"_Look, Queerio, you can beg all you want, but a pardon isn't what you really want."_

"_You want the lady-kisses," Brittney interjected. _

"_In case you have forgotten," Quinn said behind gritted teeth, "I have a boyfriend."_

"_Who, Finnept? Come off it, Quinn!" Santana laughed. Quinn's eyes grew to the width of saucers in her amazement. "Hudson is, by and large, the Great Converter and not in a good way. Just look at Berry."_

"_Rachel?"_

"_See?" the Latina gently pointed to Quinn, "that dreamy way you said her name, her _first_ name no less, proves that you are without a doubt a Vagitarian." Quinn's face contorted in disgust at the crass word, but the Latina didn't seem to notice or care._

"_Rachel would totally love your lady-kisses, Q," Brittney squealed. _

"_Rachel is not gay!"_

"_Well, that's neither here nor there," Santana waved a hand around aimlessly for emphasis. "The point is, that you have just outted your big les-bot crush on the midget. This is of course triggering my gag-reflex like, hello."_

"_It doesn't matter, she's not gay," Quinn replied emphatically. Her expression fell when she realized that she did, in fact, reveal her thus-far unknown secret. Quinn was so used to hiding aspects of her personality from the greater-populace that it stands to reason she'd be an expert at hiding it from herself too. _

_Santana gave her a self-satisfied smirk and reclined back onto her bunk in the cabin the three Cheerios exclusively shared. Brittney snuggled in beside the Latina, and Quinn glanced at the two, her eyes a little sad at their obvious display of affection. Perhaps she would never know that level of openness, but it couldn't hurt to admit to her best friends that yes, she did often catch herself looking at the posterior of a few WMHS co-eds, or she had a time or two daydreamed in pre-calc (because, honestly, Quinn could do that shit in her sleep) that she was backstage behind the auditorium with a faceless brunette, whose size and shape may have very well been Rachel Berry. They may have also been sharing a heated kiss or two, and in one particularly heated imagining, Quinn may have grazed the tips of her fingers along the girl's inner thigh. _

_That probably should be left unsaid. _

_But she could admit that she felt _something_. Some stirring whenever a beautiful girl walked down the hallway, or when Rachel Berry met her glance in the middle of a performance. But that was sort of a natural reaction, wasn't it? Rachel poured so much into every performance, and it didn't matter if you were Matt Rutherford or Mr. Shue, Rachel bared her soul to you in every word she sang, and every gaze she levelled. _

_But Quinn supposed that while it might be a natural reaction, it was probably only natural if you were attracted to that person. Though she may not put it quite as bluntly as her second-in-command, Quinn reasoned that she could, potentially, in maybe the slightest, most miniscule, almost negligible way... be gay. _

_Since moving out of her parents' home after baby-gate had unravelled, Quinn had been living with first Mercedes, then Santana. She hadn't been under the thumb of her fundamentalist Christian family for quite some time, and though God was still very important to her, it had been made abundantly clear by Mercedes's and Santana's families that the God she knew and loved was not the spiteful God her parents had taught her to fear. He was a God of love in all its forms. Perhaps it was because of this that the lightning bolt of this particular revelation was not the most harrowing Quinn had ever encountered. _

_That honour fell to realizing that she liked Rachel Berry. Of all the girls she knew. _

_Rachel Fucking Berry. _

"_Oh, fuck," she murmured, breaking the silence that had descended on the three girls. _

Though a year had past in which Quinn had come to terms with her "flaming fires of homo-dykerie" (again, Santana's words) she still hadn't quite addressed that Berry conundrum. True, she could recognize that she was attracted to the girl. But the diva was still that, a diva, and she was barely tolerable on a good day. Quinn did not find her incessant rambling endearing, nor did she think the girl would be endurable if she could keep her mouth shut long enough; unless, of course, her mouth was _silently_ occupied.

Quinn rolled her eyes at her musings. She closed the cover of her book, no longer finding solace from her thoughts in between the pages, and placed it haphazardly atop the pile of other books waiting to be finished. Quinn was constantly rotating books, and while it may take her a year or so to finish reading one, it was only because she always had ten or so on the go. Santana's mother didn't mind the pile of books beside the well-worn recliner chair, but she always shook her head when she would see the blonde with a new book barely started knowing full well there was a pile beside the chair waiting to be completed.

Quinn was easily distracted, and while she would pick up one of the books several months later and find a renewed interest in its story, she never failed to get distracted when she started a new tale. But because Quinn was easily distracted, and the girl realized this of her own volition, it annoyed her that her mind never got bored with thoughts of the pint-sized headache named Rachel Berry.

If only she had a crush on Danica Miller, the back spot who supported Quinn as a flyer. The red-head was strong, and had a very desirable physique. Her hair fell in waves around her face when she let it air dry from her shower after practice. And there had been that one time, when Quinn had miscalculated slightly her turn axle in mid-air (there had been a spectator in argyle sitting at the top of the stadium bleachers that had momentarily caught Quinn's eye) and she fell awkwardly but Danica had still managed to catch her.

"_You're okay. I gotcha,"_ she had whispered into Quinn's ear so as not to let Coach Sylvester hear. Not that the slight error had gone unnoticed if the immediate demand for suicides for the entire squad was any indication, but Quinn had appreciated the reassuring tone the girl had used.

And Danica was tall, which Quinn was used to. Finn was a behemoth, and while Quinn didn't really like her partner to be _that_ tall, she did like being able to look up at someone. Though she did have to admit it was nice to be gazed up _at_.

And Quinn had heard rumours about Danica getting close with quite a few of the members on the squad at parties. Which didn't necessarily make her gay (it wasn't as though it would be the first time in history a girl made out with another girl at a party in order to attract a boy), but it also didn't discount the possibility of the girl being bi-curious. Quinn didn't really like the idea of kissing a girl only because that girl wanted to get with some guy. Quinn didn't think she had the heart to handle some pretend, drunken liaison; she was still trying to be delicate with her affections, especially now that she realized she was possibly, likely, very much so gay.

Quinn glanced at the clock. Sigh.

She had a closing shift that started in forty-five minutes, and she still needed to shower. She had thrown away the better part of her day trying to read Ganssle's _A Reasonable God_, and trying not to think about a certain annoying brunette. And now she had to go to work. At least Santana was closing with her, and they could pretty much slack off until the 'hour of power,' the final hour of their shift where they did all the necessary closing duties.

"Q," came the familiar voice of Santana from the top of the stairs. Quinn glanced up and met the mischievous smile of the other cheerleader. "B's coming over tonight before she has to go back to the camp tomorrow, so I switched my shift with Berry."

Quinn was taken aback. _Son of a bitch._

"Son of a bitch," she murmured aloud.

"You're welcome," was the sing-song reply.

"Good, Lord, what are _you_ doing here?"

"Well, Kurt," Rachel replied evenly, "it seems Santana needed a favour. A rare opportunity to spend with her inamorata had presented itself this evening. Santana appealed successfully to my hopeless romantic side, and while I had some reservations about closing the store being that I've never participated in a closing-shift, Santana reassured me that I would be working with Quinn who would be a stellar help in associating me with the responsibilities of a closer."

Quinn busied herself in the backroom by putting the overstock of espresso away as the two talked only a few feet away. Quinn caught Kurt's inevitable eye-roll, and his sympathetic smirk. She shrugged her shoulders as though to say, _what're you gonna do?_

"When does B go back?" Kurt asked, his question directed at the assistant-manager.

"Tomorrow morning, allegedly," Quinn replied, barely keeping the ire out of her voice.

"Its suffocating-ly queer in here," John intoned sardonically from behind them, and the three turned their attentions towards the backroom entry-way where he entered in from the front of the store. He mussed Kurt's hair in passing, knowing the boy would be aggrieved at the gesture. He curtsied at Rachel, who returned the greeting. He jokingly scoffed at Quinn, and Quinn met him with a look of disgust but the corners of her lips curled slightly anyway.

"I'm going home," John sighed heavily. His eyes twinkled as he addressed Quinn, "Don't molest the new hire tonight, _Personal Best._"

This time the look of disgust was devoid of jest, and Quinn narrowed her eyes, but it didn't seem to have any weight behind it as the two males laughed mockingly at the blushing girls. Rachel didn't hold Quinn's gaze, but her eyes did briefly settle on the blonde as they flitted around the room in embarrassment.

"I assure you, _Boys Briefs 5_, that Berry will remain unharmed where I am concerned."

"That is so touching," Kurt feigned a gush, and held his hand demurely to his chest. "You are just such a gentleman."

"I will end you, Hummel," Quinn replied, though her tone was mostly void of any bite. He blew her a kiss, before declaring he too was heading home and that he would see them all on Monday.

When the two boys had left (and Quinn really did consider John in that rather pubescent category because despite being in his forties he still acted like a tween most of the time), Quinn finally looked squarely at the brunette.

"Sorry about that," she gestured towards the retreating form of John. "He sometimes doesn't realize he's a total ass-hat."

"Absolutely no apologies necessary, Quinn," Rachel beamed. "John admitted in my interview that he had a rather brash sense of humour, and that his employees needed a thick skin and the ability to laugh at themselves. I informed him that I was on a first-name basis with Teasing and his cousin, Practical Joke."

Quinn had the decency to look accusable, but Rachel reached out and held her wrist meeting her eyes with a benevolent smile. "It's no big deal anymore, Quinn. Since Santana and David started the _Bullywhips_ I've managed to eke out a slushy-free living in the hallways of McKinley high. Though it certainly isn't utopian, as some, even Santana herself still refer to me as 'Treasure Trail' or 'Argyl-blin' which is a less than creative portmanteau of 'Argyle' and 'Goblin'. It doesn't roll off the tongue that easily, in my opinion."

Quinn couldn't help but grin at Rachel's attitude towards her nicknames; she did manage to keep her head held high even though Quinn knew that if the roles were reversed she would probably have transferred schools to get away from even that level of taunting let alone what Rachel had to endure for the better part of seven years. It seemed Quinn was once again reminded how remarkable the diva really was, and it only served to root her crush deeper in reality. Plus, as further proof, Quinn was sure Rachel's gentle grip on her wrist was leaving scorch marks.

The bell above the store's front door chimed, indicating a new customer would be making their way to the front counter momentarily. It also served as an alarm to Quinn that she and Rachel had been touching for much longer than was politely customary, and she should take a step away from the girl. Without another word she moved towards the front of the shop, and saw a tall red-head waiting patiently at the counter staring up at the menu board.

When Quinn approached, the girl dropped her gaze to politely smile in greeting. Her grin grew wider as she saw her squad's Head Cheerleader.

"Quinn!" Danica Miller exclaimed. Her eyes raked over the blonde in her form-fitting _Lima Bean_ top and cut-off jean shorts. Quinn noted briefly that Danica's eyes seemed to linger south of her face for a moment, before she raised her sparkling eyes at the assistant-manager. Quinn felt comfortable enough with the other girl's subtle scrutiny to give her own once-over. Danica had clearly stopped in for coffee on her way back from a run, and Quinn gulped down a breath as she noted the light sheen of sweat clinging to the girl's biceps and neck. Her hair was gracelessly pulled back into a ponytail, but Quinn smiled crookedly at the soft hairs that fell out of the ponytail framing her face. Danica did look good, and Quinn was pleased with herself that Danica seemed to think Quinn looked pretty good also.

"Hey, Danica, how's your summer going?" she queried as she leaned against her forearms on the counter. The other girl followed the movement with her eyes, and Quinn noticed Danica momentarily captured her bottom lip between her teeth. She may not be gay, but she didn't seem to need alcohol to think Quinn was attractive.

"Uh, good. And yours?"

"Working, as usual," she replied with an affectionate eye-roll.

"Can we get something started for you?" Rachel pointedly asked. She had slipped in front of the till, and waited with a pen in her hand to take down the girl's order. Danica's eyes quickly glanced in Rachel's direction, and she smiled politely at the brunette.

"Uh, yeah, can I just get a medium-sized London Fog?" Rachel looked at the buttons on the till with panic, and turned confused eyes towards Quinn. Quinn smiled fondly at the diva, before reaching around her to press the button and indicated where Rachel needed to press for the size. Rachel grinned appreciatively at her, and Danica dropped her eyes from the two employees, snickering softly to herself.

Rachel then skipped over to the bar and began to prepare the drink. Quinn had caught the quiet snicker and felt her cheeks burning. She couldn't stop the blush from reaching her ears, so she instead ducked her head and began to steam the milk for Rachel without another word.

A couple of minutes later, Rachel triumphantly announced, "One medium-sized London Fog!" her voice at an unnecessary decibel since Danica was standing right there, but Quinn didn't have the heart to tease her for being too loud. Danica also didn't say anything, just moved around to the other side of the bar and picked up the proffered drink. She smiled thankfully at Rachel, and sipped the beverage.

"Delicious, Berry. Nice work."

"Thank you, Danica."

"Hey, Q," Danica called. "When you're done work you should come over to Puck's tonight, he's having a small get-together." Quinn knew that Puck had never heard of the term "small get-together" and anticipated it being a rather raucous affair. She shrugged noncommittally.

"Maybe."

"Well, if you do, bring Berry. Puck's been regaling Tiffie and me with tales of his girl-bro." Quinn turned in Rachel's direction with a raised eyebrow. She only shrugged, but she still had a blush on her cheeks and was sporting a wide grin. "I hear your Mario-Kart ghost is undefeatable."

"Well, I'm not sure about that. I have no idea what I'm doing most of the time. I'm sort of a Mario Kart idiot-savant."

Danica laughed heartily as she moved towards the exit. "Well, I'd still relish the challenge face-to-face."

"Anytime, Miller," Rachel returned teasingly. Quinn felt like she was trapped in a lost episode of the Twilight Zone. Danica Miller, a first-string Cheerio, was affectionately teasing Rachel Berry, McKinley High's resident pain-in-the-ass.

But then again, Quinn was a gay Head Cheerio with an impossibly stupid crush on the aforementioned pain. Weirder things have been known to happen.

"I'll see you guys around. And don't forget Puck's tonight!" With a final wave Danica was out the door. Rachel just smiled up at Quinn, as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

Twilight Zone, indeed.


End file.
